


Every Day's Most Quiet Need

by eternalbrook



Series: no more gales or heavy weather [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Canadian Shack, Come Swallowing, D/s themes, Domesticity, Face-Fucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, further adventures in the 'let tommy be wife' universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalbrook/pseuds/eternalbrook
Summary: Tommy is shifting sleepily, burrowing his face further into Solomon’s armpit. The cold is seeping through the thick wool of the blankets. “I’ll get the fire,” he says sleepily. “Just give me a minute.”“Don’t shift yourself,” Sol murmurs. “I’ll get it.”“But you got it yesterday.”“Aye, well, maybe I want a suck two days in a row.”“Mm, ‘cause that’s the only time I do it for you, you know.”“You’re awfully cheeky for a man who gets to stay in bed for a second morning.” Tommy laughs quietly and Solomon pulls him tight for a brief, hard crush, trying to pull all the heat from his sleep-warm body into his own before he jumps from the bed.
Relationships: Thomas Armitage/Solomon Tozer
Series: no more gales or heavy weather [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156481
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2021





	Every Day's Most Quiet Need

The first thing Solomon sees when he wakes is the light coming through the outlines of the curtains, weaker than usual. He reluctantly lifts an arm from the blankets to twitch aside the curtain. At least four feet of snow it must be, halfway up the window and still falling. There’ll be no logging today. That’s well enough; he did what he needed last week. The only thing needing leaving the cabin today will be shoveling to the barn to feed the animals.

He pulls his arm back into the blankets and wraps it back around Tommy. Tommy is shifting sleepily, burrowing his face further into Solomon’s armpit. The cold is seeping through the thick wool of the blankets. “I’ll get the fire,” he says sleepily. “Just give me a minute.”

“Don’t shift yourself,” Sol murmurs. “I’ll get it.”

“But you got it yesterday.” 

“Aye, well, maybe I want a suck two days in a row.”

“Mm, ‘cause that’s the only time I do it for you, you know.”

“You’re awfully cheeky for a man who gets to stay in bed for a second morning.” Tommy laughs quietly and Solomon pulls him tight for a brief, hard crush, trying to pull all the heat from his sleep-warm body into his own before he jumps from the bed, stamping his feet into his boots before they can feel the cold of the floor and jamming on his coat. He opens the wood stove, feeding it more logs and poking the fire back to life. He hugs himself as he watches to make sure the fire catches – no point in doing it half-way – before shucking off the coat and boots and hurrying back into bed. He pulls Tommy to him so that they’re lying on their sides, chest to chest. 

“I’ll re-line your coat today, now I have the warmer fabric,” Tommy says through a yawn. “And I’ll finish the sweater so you have it next time you’re chopping. I don’t like you going out without it.” He’s unbuttoning Sol’s pants and holding his prick gently in his hand, petting the vein on the underside. 

“’m swinging so hard I barely feel the cold.”

“Yeah, but you should be warm,” Tommy says, and squirms under the covers. He licks gently, pushing his tongue under the foreskin, then takes the head in his mouth. Sol grunts and swings his leg over Tommy’s shoulder and Tommy rests his hand on his thigh, playing with the sparse hair there. As his jaw relaxes he takes Sol further down his throat until his forehead is pressed against Sol’s stomach. He hums there, happy. 

Sol pets his hand through Tommy’s hair. Later, when it’s warmer, he’ll have Tommy on top of the blankets, nothing on him. They spent years fucking with only slivers of flesh bared, pants pushed down as little as possible as they fucked over barrels in the hold. Sol saw Tommy’s prick before he ever saw his shoulder. Today he’ll kiss that shoulder, and more beside. He’ll put Tommy on his elbows and knees and pull his cheeks apart until he can see the pink in him. Tommy will blush and complain but Sol likes to stare at it, watch as it winks at him before fluttering at the first brush of his thumb. He’ll spit on it gently, rubbing saliva into the crinkly hair surrounding it before pushing into the heat. Tommy always cries out at that part, and that, too, is different, because here there is no one else to hear, no articles to violate, no lashings to fear. Tommy could never hold back his whimpers, and where Sol used to have to hold them in with a strong hand over his mouth, now he fucks with the single-minded determination to make Tommy as loud as possible. Let the animals in the barn and the deer in the woods hear how well he fucks his boy. He’ll fuck Tommy just as Tommy likes, a hand on his canted hips and a fist in those curls pushing his face into the pillow as Tommy cries out and drips come onto the sheets. Sol knows he wasn’t the first man to bend Tommy over, but he was the first to make him come without a hand to the prick, and he’s going to put that on his tombstone, his proudest accomplishment. 

Tommy is sucking harder now. Sol knows what his face must look like, eyes closed and eyebrows pinched together like making Sol come is the greatest puzzle in the world. He wants to see it, but he won’t lift the covers and let the cold air disturb Tommy. He scratches his fingers through Tommy’s hair, cupping his ears delicately, then taps his fingers on Tommy’s jaw. Tommy obliges and slackens his mouth, gaping around him as wide as he can. Sol twists his hands into Tommy’s hair and begins fucking his mouth in rough strokes. Tommy’s mouth is a river of spit. Sol wants to fuck into his throat and stay there, wants to fill him with come, to feed him so that he never goes hungry. He feels his crisis coming and wrenches his hands out of Tommy’s hair to slam his fist against the wall as he comes with a yell.

Sol is still catching his breath when Tommy pokes his head out from the blankets, face drenched in spit.

“Show me,” Sol says softly, putting his thumb on Tommy’s lower lip, and Tommy opens his mouth and does, the cream sitting on his tongue.

“Swallow,” Sol says, and Tommy does, and then grins at him, proud as anything. Sol thinks he could build him a thousand cabins and it would never be enough.

Tommy squirms towards him and Sol unbuttons his pants and takes his pretty prick in hand, murmuring nonsense. “There you are, there you are, good lad. Mouth like a doxy, you have, but all for me, right? All mine. Come on, give us a kiss. That’s it. Prettiest boy in the world. Look at you blush. How’d I get so lucky, hm? How’d I get such a wife? You gonna come? There you go. That’s it.”

Tommy spills into his hand with a high-pitched whimper. Sol rubs him through it, strokes the come back onto his prick as Tommy gasps into his mouth. When he’s stopped twitching, Sol grabs a rag from the bedside table and gently wipes him clean.

Tommy kisses him sweetly and shoves them so that he’s lying on top of Sol, resting on his chest like a damn housecat.

“Heavy,” Sol grumbles. Tommy giggles unsympathetically.

“Yeah, but you’re strong,” he says, and Sol won’t argue with that. He rubs his hand up and down Tommy’s back. His eyes are getting heavy again. The cabin is warm now. They should get up and get started on the day. Tommy will fry bacon and bread and Sol will pester him for a bite until he shoos him out to see to the barn. But they’ve got all day. There’s no rush.


End file.
